


Tuxedos

by TurtleTotem



Series: Westchester High School [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Avengers Spoilers, Blissfully Shaw-Free Universe, Cheesy, F/M, M/M, Power Ballads, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The course of <strike>true love</strike> Prom never did run smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cat Exits Bag, Stage Left

“Mum, do you know where my white tux has got to?” Charles asked as casually as he could manage. “It’s not in my closet, and Esperanza hasn’t seen it.”

“Whatever do you need that for?” His mother looked up from her salmon with a slight wrinkle between her sculpted eyebrows.

“Prom, of course.” Prom’s approach was hardly a secret – his mother had made a show of going dress-shopping with Raven, though it apparently turned into lunch with her friends while Raven got stuck shopping with their daughters, none of whom she liked.

“You’re going to prom?” That was Kurt, staring at Charles as if he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or impressed.

“Yes, and I’ll need my white tux for it.”

“It’s probably at the cleaners, tell Esperanza to call them,” his mother said, at the same time as Kurt said, “What desperate little filly did you blackmail into going with you?”

Charles took a deep breath. This was the moment he’d dreaded.

”A bunch of us are all going together as friends,” Raven cut in. “Not so much with dates, just, you know, all together.”

“But _you_ have a date.” Their mother looked confused. “Charles is going without a date?”

Kurt laughed. “That’s more like the little prissy-boy I know.”

Charles threw his napkin down on the table. “I’m going with Erik.”

Silence.

“Erik,” his mother repeated. “That awful boy with the piercings? Ugh, darling, really? But he’s not – I mean, he’s not really your _date,_ right, it’s like Raven said—”

“No, he is my date. I’ve been out of the closet for over a year, Mum, you just haven’t noticed.”

His mother just stared, blankly confused. Her wine glass was empty again.

“Charles,” Kurt said, standing and putting his hand on Charles’s shoulder. “I think you and I should discuss this in my office.”

“After dinner, surely,” his mother said faintly.

“No. Right now. Let’s go.”

Well, here it came. Charles sighed and pushed back his chair, trying not to let his throat tighten or his hands shake. Raven looked halfway to panicking; he gave her a wink. _Same old. All fine here._ It had been sweet of her to try, but he wasn’t going to hide Erik. He wasn’t ashamed.

Still, as he walked to Kurt’s office with his stepfather’s hand vice-tight on his shoulder, he couldn’t help wishing he’d just bought another tux.

***

“You fell,” Erik repeated flatly.

“Yep. Bounced all the way down the stairs like a… bouncing thing. Ouch, don’t touch it!”

Erik drew back from his investigation of the bruise at the edge of Charles’s forehead and looked at him narrowly. “Where else does it hurt?”

“Sort of everywhere,” Charles said with a wincing laugh. “Thus the walking like an old man.”

Erik put his hands gently on either side of Charles’s face, and the helpless ache in his eyes made Charles feel a lot worse than the bruises. “Look, if there was anything going on that – that you needed help with or whatever – you’d let me help you, right?”

Charles almost wanted to laugh. Kurt wasn’t the kind of thing anyone could help with. He just had to be endured. “Nothing going on that I can’t handle, Erik, I promise.”

“Okay,” Erik murmured. “If you say so.” He pressed a very gentle kiss to the forehead bruise, his lip-ring a line of cold against Charles’s skin, then wrapped his arms around him. Charles leaned heavily into the hug, burrowing into Erik’s collar.

“We should talk about boutonnieres,” Charles said, muffled by Erik’s shirt.

“I told you already, I found the perfect—”

“No, we are _not_ wearing trick flowers that squirt water. I don’t care how lame prom is, you lost whining rights when you voluntarily engaged a date for the occasion.”

Erik pulled back to stroke his hair and kiss him. “Yeah, you’re right. No whining rights here.”


	2. Hey Big Spender

Charles got a ridiculously large allowance. Erik and his dad were barely getting by. Charles, therefore, thought it was perfectly obvious he should pay for everything.

So he was rather startled by Erik’s violent reaction when Charles tried to give him money for a tuxedo.

“I can take care of myself, Charles! I’m not your pet, or your – what is it – sugar baby, I can pull my own weight and for that matter I can take care of you, too – I’ve got enough for the tickets and my dad’s going to—”

“I already bought the tickets.”

Erik goggled to a halt. “You what?”

“I—I bought our prom tickets already. I ordered us both the chicken dish – I knew you wouldn’t want the pork. W-was that okay?”

That was when Erik did an excellent impersonation of a nuclear explosion.

At first Charles just sat there, wide-eyed and silent like everyone else at the lunch table, while Erik ranted about arrogance and privilege and how he didn’t owe Charles a thing. Finally, when Charles realized he was about to start crying whether he liked it or not, he shot to his feet.

“Fine!” he shouted, and by this time half the cafeteria was looking at them. “We’re not allowed to give each other things. I get it now. I guess you want this back, then?” He held out his hand to show the bracelet Erik had made him, all intertwined bits of metal – tore it off and slammed it down on the table in front of Erik. “Enjoy your independence!”

He stormed out of the cafeteria, and made it to the nearest restroom, kicking the stall door behind him, before he burst into tears.

Ten minutes or so later, there was a knock on the stall door.

Charles didn’t even need his telepathy to know it was Erik; he’d already recognized the scuff of his shoes across the floor, not to mention the sight of them under the door. He didn’t answer the knock, just held his breath to stop his sobbing — as if Erik hadn’t heard him the moment he came in the door.

“Charles. Come on, Charles, let me in.”

“No.” Charles started wiping his face frantically.

He could practically hear Erik roll his eyes. The metal slide-lock on the stall door moved back the other way, and the door swung open. Erik bolted it again behind him.

“So,” he said. “Two gay guys in a bathroom stall. Pretty sure I’ve seen this one.”

Charles reached for some toilet paper to wipe his nose and didn’t answer.

“Yeah,” Erik sighed. “Anyway. Um. Raven says you give people money like other people donate blood – it’s something you have a lot of and other people need it more than you do, so it makes you happy to give it to them. So, like, would I lay on an operating table and bleed to death because I’m too stubborn to accept help. But I’m not bleeding to death, Charles!”

“I know,” Charles said thickly, not looking at him. “I just – I want to help and I want you to – I don’t want you to worry about money when you don’t have to and I don’t have – I mean, I am what I am, which is the ridiculous nerdy rich boy and that’s all I’ve got to offer so if you don’t want that, then what am I then? What am I supposed to give you then?”

“You,” Erik said, “are not making sense. And you don’t ever have to give me anything or _buy_ me anything to make me love you.”

Charles felt his eyes go very round, while those last two words sort of echoed through the room.

Erik’s cheeks started reddening, and he raked his fingers through his hair, shuffling his feet a little. “Yeah, did I mention that before? I mean, I thought it was pretty much understood, but in case you didn’t notice — aaagh!” The stall door rattled as their combined weights fell against it, Charles’s arms around his neck.

“I love you, too, Erik.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Erik grumbled. “Get off before you get snot on me.” But he kept his arms tight around Charles.

Charles chuckled against Erik’s neck. “Our first L-word exchange. In the school bathroom.”

“The great romance of our time.” Erik turned his head to kiss the tip of Charles’s ear. “I’m paying for my own tux, okay?”

“Fine,” Charles sighed. “But we’re taking my limo. I mean, that’s just good sense, when I’ve already got one. Raven and I will pick up you and Hank and everyone else.”

“Okay.” Erik finally got some space between them, and with a one-handed gesture floated the metal bracelet up between them. “You want this back now?”

“Mm-hmm,” Charles said, biting his lip, and let Erik thread it back onto his wrist, maintaining eye contact in the hope that – yes, it was indeed time for kissing now, and Charles nudged his mind up against Erik’s to be let in with the shivery gasp that was pretty much Charles’s favorite sound in the world.

“OKAY, WELL, NOW THAT THAT’S SETTLED,” said a voice from the next stall, “congratulations to you both and I am _so_ out of here!”

A pair of tennis shoes made a hasty retreat, and Charles had to depend on Erik to hold him up while he laughed himself sick.


	3. Don Pedro's Errand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will totally give a prize of some sort to the first person who can explain what this chapter title means. (You may have to read all the way to the end to figure it out.)
> 
> ETA: And the prize goes to JKMo, who will have a small cameo appearance in Ch. 16 of Ritual Self-Torture! Her comment is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/2336739) (on Chapter 6), it contains spoilers! A few other people got the source right (Much Ado About Nothing) but JKMo was the one who nailed the full meaning.

If Erik had been in French class like he was supposed to be, it wouldn’t have happened. But French class tended to leave him sizzling with impatience at the imbeciles that _still_ didn’t understand the difference between the imperfect and _passe compose,_ so Erik had skipped class to go find Charles, who would probably be spending his study period in the library. Charles might scold him for skipping class, but he still wouldn’t turn down a bit of library canoodling.

He found Charles in the library, all right. Canoodling with someone else.

Erik froze, out of sight behind a shelf, and peered through the rows of books more carefully. Surely it wasn’t – no, that was definitely Charles, sitting on the arm of an overstuffed armchair, with his arm propped above the doe-eyed brunette girl occupying it. He was leaning very, very close to whisper in her ear, and the girl was giggling.

 _You’re being stupid,_ Erik told himself frantically. _Charles loves you, he told you he does, you’ve **felt** that he does. He wouldn’t – he would never – besides, she’s a girl!_ But that LGBT pin had a B on it, too, now didn’t it, and Charles had never actually said he didn’t like girls…

Something Charles whispered made the girl turn and punch him in the arm, still laughing; he held up his hands in surrender, eyes twinkling. Erik felt his stomach churn.

Charles’s voice was just barely loud enough to hear now. “So is that a yes?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “All right, all right.”

Charles did a bouncey sort of victory dance. “Yes! Thank you, Moira! Oh, _and—”_ He leaned in to whisper again, something that made the girl – Moira – gasp and cover her mouth, muffling a faint squeal.

“Charles, you are the best!” she whispered, and hugged him.

“Yes, darling, I know,” Charles said. And kissed her cheek.

Moving as fast as he could without attracting attention, Erik fled the library.

***

That afternoon, Charles met him outside his Calculus classroom; their usual routine was for Charles to walk home with Erik, and be picked up by his mother’s driver at the entrance to the apartment complex.

“Need to go by your locker?” Charles asked. He looked perfectly normal, Erik thought. No trace of guilt, no hint that he’d rather be somewhere else, with someone else – but then, Charles was all about sparing people’s feelings. He must have jogged to get here so fast; his hair was tousled, his cheeks pink. Erik wanted to scream.

“Erik?”

“No, I – I’ve got everything.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“No.”

Charles, already halfway down the hallway, stopped and blinked at him a moment, then fought his way through the tide of escaping students back to Erik. “What do you mean, no?”

“I – I’ve got a lot of homework tonight, Charles. I don’t have time to goof around.”

“It’s Friday, the homework can wait! Well, I guess you won’t get much chance to work on it tomorrow, though, with prom… All right, we’ll just walk fast, then.”

“No. Just – just go on home, I need to just – go.”

Charles stared at him, frowning. Erik felt a familiar warm nudge against his mind, this time flavored with a distinct, _What’s wrong?_ He shoved it back hard. _Stay out of my head, Charles._

Charles fell back a step, looking startled and hurt. _Charles_ was feeling hurt? That was rich. Erik closed his teeth over an angry outburst. He had no idea yet what he was going to do about this, but a shouting match in the school hallway wasn’t it.

“Go home, Charles,” he said again.

“All right,” Charles said faintly. “Just don’t forget I’m picking you up at 6:30 tomorrow.” Erik nodded curtly; Charles turned to go.

“Wait!” Erik called, suddenly desperate, and took three hurried strides through the bustling crowd to catch his arm, turn him around, and kiss him hard.

Charles kissed back as sweetly and generously as ever, despite the other kids’ shouts and catcalls around them, despite Erik’s too-tight grip on his arm and the way Erik was bending his neck back. Once again Erik felt the nudge at his mind, more timid now, and again he shut it down. Charles could have gotten past Erik’s refusal as easy as breathing, of course, but he didn’t, because Charles cared about people’s _feelings._ Theoretically.

“I love you,” Charles said when Erik finally let him up for air.

“I love you, too,” Erik said, swallowing and turning away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”


	4. Friendly Fire

Charles bit his lip as he raised a hand to knock on Erik’s door. His texts last night and this morning had gone unanswered, but Erik’s father had confirmed on the phone that Erik would be ready for pick-up at 6:30.

So, either Charles was about to embark on a milestone night of glamour and romance with his favorite person in the world, or he was about to get stood up on prom night.

The door opened, and there was Erik, looking _deadly_ hot in his black tuxedo, all his most elegant rings and piercings gleaming for the occasion, his eyes done up a bit smokier than usual and dear _god_ that cologne was mouthwatering. Charles barely restrained himself from attacking Erik where he stood.

“You look amazing,” he said instead, just a little hoarsely.

Erik chuckled. “You look ridiculous,” he said. “The eighties want their white tux back.” But his grip on Charles’s hands, and the rapid dilation of his pupils, spoke otherwise.

“He is here?” Erik’s father, a craggy-faced mountain of a man with a strong German accent, stepped into the apartment’s tiny entryway. “Ah, look at these boys! But why you do not match? Erik, did you get the wrong suit?”

“No, Dad, we’re supposed to look different!” Erik batted his father’s hands away from his jacket.

“This year’s prom theme is the Union of Opposites,” Charles explained. “We’re reversed from each other. White tux with black vest, black tux with white vest. See?”

“We’re a chess board, or a yin-yang, or something – I don’t know, Charles talked me into it, Dad, just go with it.”

“Is this why you buy him dead flower?”

“It’s not _dead,_ Dad, I told you! It’s _supposed_ to be black!” Erik rubbed his face, apparently torn between amusement and exasperation. “Let me go get it, Charles. Be right back.”

Left alone, Charles and Jakob Lehnsherr regarded each other across the entryway with only slightly awkward smiles.

“You have my son home by midnight, hmm?” Mr. Lehnsherr said with a wink.

“Oh!” The idea of a curfew hadn’t really occurred to Charles. He and Raven didn’t have one. “Of course, sir, if you—”

Mr. Lehnsherr laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Joke, joke! I am working night shift, I would not know either way. But you will both be careful, yes? No drinking and driving, no… improper… ah… I mean…”

“Oh, no, we have a driver, that won’t be a problem,” Charles said brightly, and could feel his ears turning red as he determinedly ignored the possible meanings of that last bit.

“Good, good,” Mr. Lehnsherr said, followed by a bit more awkward silence. From the kitchen, Charles could hear Erik fumbling around in the refrigerator. His own boutonniere had lost its chill in the car; he hoped it wouldn’t wilt before he even got it onto his date.

“Erik is so excited,” Mr. Lehnsherr said. “He does not say much, that is Erik, but I can tell. He likes you very much.”

“I like him very much, too,” Charles said, trying not to let his smile go too dopey. “He, um… he’s excited? He hasn’t been… grumpy, the last day or so?”

Mr. Lehnsherr looked amused, raising bristly eyebrows. “Grumpy? My Erik? When is he _not_ grumpy?”

“Well… yes, good point.” But he did seem normal enough now… perhaps yesterday had just been cold feet or something.

Then Erik was back, boutonniere in hand, and Mr. Lehnsherr was snapping photos while Charles pinned his white rosebud on Erik, and Erik his black rosebud on Charles. More photos – the two of them with arms around each other’s waists, and one of Erik stealing a kiss, to much scolding from his father. Charles hadn’t expected so many pictures – Esperanza had only taken a couple.

“We’ve really got to go, sir,” he said at last, “we still need to pick up Alex and Darwin.”

“Of course,” Mr. Lehnsherr said. “Of course you must go. Just one more!”

“All right, Dad, just one!” Erik grabbed both of Charles’s wrists, one hand going straight for the metal bracelet under Charles’s sleeve, and touched their foreheads together for the picture. Charles gulped, and managed not to dive into a full-throttle snog right in front of Erik’s father.

“My boy,” Mr. Lehnsherr sighed. “I wish your mother could have been here to see you, so grown up.”

Erik’s eyes went briefly distant, but he brought himself back quickly. “If she were here, she’d probably be telling us to hurry up. Let’s go!”

 

Charles lead Erik to the limousine by the hand, as if afraid he would get lost on the way, but paused before opening the door.

_Erik, is eveything all right? What was that about, yesterday?_ Erik would often say things mind-to-mind that he wouldn’t say aloud.

_Nothing,_ Erik replied, leaning in close enough for their noses to touch. Charles could sense the car’s occupants rolling their eyes. _Nothing. I was being stupid._

_Ah, nothing unusual then. Glad to hear it._ Grinning, Charles bounced onto his tiptoes for a kiss – just a little one – then opened the door for Erik with a flourish.

And saw every muscle in Erik’s body tighten.

“What is _she_ doing here?” he demanded, pointing at a wide-eyed Moira. Which, all right, Charles supposed it could be startling to find a stranger in one’s prom limo, but surely that didn’t explain the level of anger and confusion and _hurt_ currently pouring off his boyfriend.

“Oh, I forgot you hadn’t met Moira,” Charles said hesitantly. “Do slide on in, Erik, and I’ll introduce you.”

Only after a long, tense moment did Erik concede to enter the limo. Charles followed after, signaling to the driver, and the car began to move.

“Erik, this is Moira MacTaggert, Sean’s date. Moira and I have been friends for ages, and since Sean’s in sort of an odd transportation situation – long story there – Moira’s riding with us, and meeting Sean there. Moira, this is Erik.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Erik,” Moira said, extending a hand.

“Wish I could say the same,” Erik said, not taking the hand. “Friends for ages, huh? And yet you’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Haven’t I?” Charles said awkwardly. He knew full well he hadn’t, because Moira wasn’t a mutant and he’d been unsure how Erik would react to her. Thus far, that hesitation looked thoroughly justified.

Erik was looking Moira up and down with blatant judgment in his eyes. “I didn’t realize feathers were in now.”

Moira’s eyes flashed even as her cheeks darkened. Charles was baffled; Moira’s dress was bird-themed, yes – an elegant, kimono-inspired garment with embroidered cranes – but the only feathers in evidence were in the fascinator in her hair, a fairly tame one as such things went.

“I think Moira looks lovely,” he said, and nearly recoiled from the explosion of emotion this sparked in Erik – all of it negative. “As does Raven, of course!” he continued frantically, gesturing to his stepsister and Hank in the opposite seat, where they sat watching the show with raised eyebrows – Raven – or uncertain twitches – Hank.

“Of course I look lovely,” Raven said serenely. “This dress won an Academy Award.”

Erik did something of a double take as he caught sight of Raven and Hank’s… costumes, was really the appropriate word. Raven, her hair shifted to brunette for the evening, was in long gloves and an immense, shimmering gold gown that took up most of the seat. Hank, wearing an expertly-applied hairpiece to give him an elegant ponytail, fidgeted continuously at his blue velvet jacket, gold waistcoat, and fluffy white cravat.

Raven smiled widely. “What could be a better union of opposites than Beauty and the Beast?”

_“Hank_ as the Beast?” Erik said in flat astonishment.

Hank flushed. “I know, I look ridiculous. My shoulders aren’t nearly broad enough for the character – not to mention I can’t even manage a proper beard, much less—”

Raven leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I think you’ll grow into it.”

Hank blushed even harder and got his hand tangled in the hairpiece.

Erik had already turned back to Moira. “So you’re ditching your date before you even arrive, huh? Can’t entirely blame you if it’s Sean Cassidy, but scouting out _other_ people’s dates is still pretty tasteless, don’t you think? Everyone in this car is already spoken for.”

“Erik!” Charles snapped, knowing he sounded like a shocked grandmother, but what had gotten into the man?

“I’m assuming you’re baseline,” Erik made the word a sneer, “since I’ve never seen you around. Considering _Sean,_ I’d peg this as a pity date and assumed you stocked up on vitamin C beforehand, just in case mutation is catching. But maybe you’re the other sort, hoping to hitch your wagon to a better star. There’s always those that suck up to the powerful, scrambling for the crumbs they drop—”

Charles barely resisted the urge to touch his temple and shut Erik up the easy way. Instead, he grabbed Erik’s arm in a vice-grip. _“What the devil is the matter with you?”_ he hissed.

“With _me?_ What’s wrong with _me,_ oh that’s rich, Charles—”

“Arriving at the Summers residence, sir,” came Bill’s voice over the microphone, and the limo came to a stop.

Charles dragged Erik out the door and slammed it behind them, barely seeing the lawn and driveway around them. “Erik – Erik why do you _do_ this, why are you _like_ this, it’s enough to make anyone—” He forced himself to take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t want to be friends with Moira, fine—”

“Oh, how magnanimous—”

“But I will not let you treat her like this and ruin the evening for her, and me, and _everyone!”_ He risked looking at Erik’s face again; the angry snarl was gone, replaced by an expression of desperate, haunted misery. What in the world was going on? Charles half-consciously put out a tendril of mental connection, but withdrew when it hit the strongest shields he’d ever seen Erik erect.

“Charles,” Erik said, almost whispering, “you don’t need her, okay? I know I’m… I’m mean and I’m hard to deal with and I ruin everything but I – I can fix this, I can fix it.”

_You don’t need her?_ What was this even about? He knew Erik had some possessive tendencies, and for the most part Charles enjoyed them, but was it about to become a serious problem? “Erik…”

He didn’t get any further, becoming aware of footsteps and approaching minds at the same moment.

“Everything okay?” Darwin said, coming down the drive with Alex, arms linked. They both looked very snazzy, Charles thought, in their identical black tuxedos – if uncomfortable, in Alex’s case. Raven had been very disappointed with their unimaginative clothing choices, but Darwin, laughing, had said their skin tones were surely opposite enough to satisfy the theme.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Charles said without looking at Erik. “You both ready to go? Excellent, let’s go.”

Loading everyone into the car turned out to be harder than it looked, mostly due to Raven’s enormous skirt. When everyone was finally settled, Charles looked around to realize he’d ended up in the seat by the door, next to Alex, with Erik on the other side of Darwin.

“And we’re off!” Raven shouted as the limo began to move. Excited chatter filled the passenger compartment, which didn’t feel nearly as roomy now with seven people in it. Raven started up an impromptu singalong, something like “Have a Holly Jolly Prom Night,” with everyone trying to make up words at the same time – even Moira, who was now sandwiched between Hank and the wall.

Well, everyone but Charles, who was too busy looking over his friends’ heads at Erik, and Erik, who was too busy looking back at him.

Something was going on, and Charles was about equally worried and bewildered and angry at Erik. But when Erik slid an arm behind Darwin and Alex’s heads, reaching for Charles, Charles didn’t hesitate to reach back, and let Erik grip his hand as tight as he could all the way to the prom.


	5. It's Not Prom Unless Someone's Crying in the Bathroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [Dracoangelica](dracoangelica.tumblr.com), whose offhand comment became the title of this chapter.

The Prom Committee had rented two hotel ballrooms for the occasion, and they sat down to dinner in one of them, surrounded by sparkling crystal and gleaming silverware, every glass sporting a wine red napkin formed into a flower shape. Charles was uniquely able to know which students were trying hard not to look awed, Erik not least; Charles himself had had fancier birthday parties, but it was nice to see the glamour of it all through less jaded eyes.

He took care to hold the door for Moira on her way in, and pull out her chair at the table; he’d rather hoped Sean would be here by now, but he wasn’t about to let her date’s tardiness sully Moira’s prom experience. This distracted him so much that he hardly noticed Erik taking his seat in savage, jerky motions, and making no move to help Charles into his. At one point Raven seemed to be trying to communicate something with her eyes, but when Charles only frowned at her in confusion, she sighed and gave up.

At first their table was dreadfully quiet and awkward, no one certain how to act in such formal circumstances. When the salad was served, however, Alex snorted and said, “What, no caviar? I’ve been robbed,” causing Darwin to nearly choke on a crouton. After that, it wasn’t much different than being at the mutie table in the cafeteria, just in nicer clothes.

The only one that didn’t warm up at all was Erik. Throughout the meal, he mispronounced Moira’s name as Moria and muttered some rather vulgar things about dwarves and Sean’s yet-to-materialize growth spurt, until Charles kicked him under the table quite hard.

He couldn’t prove Erik had anything to do with Moira’s drink spilling, missing her dress by a hair, but he kicked him again anyway.

***

The dancing started, and Erik sat on the sidelines with Charles, trying not to visibly vibrate with contradictory emotions. Charles would want to dance, surely, and Erik desperately wanted to dance with him, but at the same time — how long could they keep pretending everything was okay? He’d spent hours last night convincing himself that what he saw at the library didn’t mean anything, and then the moment he saw Moira in their limo, it all went out the window. He had no idea what to believe now.

At the moment, Charles seemed content to whisper excited commentary on their classmates as they swirled by. There wasn’t actually a contest going on, but of course there was still inevitably a “winner” at these sorts of things, and according to Charles it was currently a tie between Raven and Hank’s “Beauty & the Beast” theme, or Emma and Azazel’s “angel and devil.”

“Emma knows how to dress, you have to hand her that,” Charles grumbled as she and Az swept by to the tune of Etta James’s “At Last.” The music at this thing was turning out to be exceptionally cheesy. “Though I’m not at all certain Azazel’s should even count, I mean he didn’t actually have to do anything different.”

Ordinarily Erik would have had a lot to say about any given person’s fashion choices — it was a hobby, all right — and in case a lot to say about embracing one’s mutation, but right now words were sticking in his throat.

“I’m starting to get worried about Sean,” Charles was saying. “I think Moira’s getting annoyed — it wasn’t easy persuading her to come at all, and if she gets stood up, I don’t think she’s ever going to speak to him again.”

Erik snorted. “I think Moira can take care of herself.” _You can stop pretending,_ he wanted to say. _Stop pretending Sean’s coming, that all of this isn’t a scheme to let you have the prom date you really wanted without actually dumping me. You’re going to stand there right in front of me and pull out her chair, whisper in her ear, kiss her hand? Have you ever thought you were subtle, Charles?_ He didn’t let any of those thoughts escape, kept them tightly tied down, behind shields that he knew Charles could break in a second and he’d never cared about that because he _trusted_ Charles—

“Yes, she looks like she’s having a good time, doesn’t she?” Charles said, wistfully — that was definitely wistful — watching Moira out on the floor dancing with Darwin. “Don’t you want to dance, Erik?”

“No.”

“Just one?” Charles pouted, gave him the Puppy Eyes.

Erik clenched his teeth. “No, Charles, no dancing! None!”

Charles jerked back, startled. Erik scrambled for words, an apology, an argument, something. Nothing came.

“All right, fine,” Charles said after an awkward minute. “Well, you can’t be mad if I go dance without you, then. I did give you first shot.”

And that was how Erik ended up watching from the sidelines while Charles and Moira slow-danced to the stupid _Titanic_ song, giggling and whispering in each other’s ears. The room was warm and Charles had taken off his white tuxedo jacket, leaving him in a black vest and rolled-up shirtsleeves. He looked amazing.

“What’s this, sugar, trouble in paradise?” Emma Frost said, sliding up beside him with Azazel at her elbow. “You should wear some kind of warning sign if you’re going to pour this much emotional pollution into the atmosphere.”

“Emma, would you like to dance?” Erik said. “If your date doesn’t mind, of course.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at him, looked at Az who raised his hands in a no-problems-here gesture, then shrugged and extended her hand.

Erik wasn’t watching Charles at all, as he lead Emma onto the dancefloor. There was no reason to pay any attention to Charles’s reaction. Charles wasn’t in any position to judge his supposed date for dancing with other people. So Erik was not looking in Charles’s direction, not even out of the corner of his eye. There was no reason for him to notice, much less react, when Charles stopped dead in the middle of the floor and stared at Erik and Emma as if they’d killed his favorite kitten.

There was no reason to feel like he’d been kicked in the gut when Charles ran from the room in tears.

*** 

 

_Charles?_

The tentative voice in Charles’s head wasn’t the one he really wanted to hear, but Raven’s concern was touching, nonetheless.

_I’m fine, Raven,_ he sent back, not letting an ounce of the truth — that he was sobbing uncontrollably in a bathroom stall — leak through.

Or so he thought. _You don’t sound fine,_ Raven replied, _and you didn’t look fine, and Erik doesn’t look fine, and what in the world is going on?!_

Erik didn’t look fine? Was it awful of him to find that cheering? _Erik didn’t want to dance with me,_ Charles admitted. _But I turn my back and he’s dancing with Emma Frost. I know, I was dancing with someone else, but only because he said he didn’t want to dance at all!_

_Charles, you are so oblivious sometimes._

_What?_

Raven’s reply was a mental flash of Moira’s face, followed by Erik’s, now with glowing green eyes and monstrous fangs, subtitled THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER.

_Raven, Erik knows Moira and I are just friends, I told him…_

_And Erik wins all kinds of awards for being logical and trusting._

_Can I see him?_

He could feel Raven hesitate.

_I won’t read anything from you, I promise,_ he added quickly. _I just want to see him._

_All right._

He nudged his way into Raven’s perceptions, walling off her thoughts and emotions as firmly as he could, and looked at Erik through her eyes.

He looked miserable. He was still dancing with Emma, who seemed to have an iron grip around his waist, but they both looked angry. Erik’s mouth was tight, brows furrowed, nostrils flared — all the usual signs that he was about to do something destructive, possibly to himself. If that was the face of a boy who wanted to be dancing with Emma Frost, he was doing a good job of hiding it. Then why the devil had he asked her?

Raven’s head turned abruptly away from Erik toward a new noise, and Charles said “Oh!” aloud in the empty bathroom at the sight of Sean Cassidy blowing into the ballroom. “Blowing” was definitely the word; he looked like he’d just stepped out of a windstorm. Had the idiot _flown_ from Buffalo?

“Sorry,” he gasped, raspy and wheezing, “sorry, Moira, where’s Moira—”

“Sean!” Moira came running from the drinks table on the other side of the room, and the two of them met in the middle like the cheesiest sort of movie, laughing and hugging and scolding. It was the first Charles had seen of Sean’s outfit, which was just as ridiculous as he had expected, between the antennae and the wings stretching down from his arms. _Sean, bees don’t have yellow and black stripes on their **wings!**_ Oh, he’d have to tell him later.

“Wait, the birds and the bees? Really?” Raven said aloud, glancing from Sean’s outfit to Moira’s crane-themed one. “Ugh, why do I hang out with these people?”

“Says the girl in a Disney princess dress,” Hank said, quirking an eyebrow. “Care to dance, Your Highness?”

Charles could feel Raven’s amusement as she sighed, and poked at his presence in her head. _Dancing with my boyfriend now, Charles. Scoot._

_All right, all right._

Before he quite removed himself, though, he caught another glimpse of Erik, staring dumbfounded at Sean and Moira. Why did he look so surprised? Charles had _told_ him Sean was coming and was going to be Moira’s date…

But Erik hadn’t believed him. Why not? Dear heavens, what must his behavior to Moira have looked like, to someone who thought Sean was… what, some kind of cover story?

_I am done with this._ Charles set his jaw, withdrew from Raven’s mind, and went knocking on Erik’s.

_Let me in, Erik. This is stupid and I’m done with it. Show me what’s wrong, or get over it, but don’t keep me in the dark and expect me to just figure it out._

And to his surprise, Erik let him in, and treated him to an unexpected recollection — himself and Moira in the library, looking, well, really quite cuddly, he had to admit. That wasn’t how he’d meant it at all, though! Flirting with Moira was like teasing his sister, it just came naturally, it didn’t mean anything.

_And Erik might have known that,_ he realized, _if you’d introduced him to Moira instead of assuming he’d be a jerk, keeping him in the dark and giving him a **reason** to be a jerk._ Not that he wasn’t furious at Erik for jumping to conclusions and being a jerk instead of confronting him and _asking_ him what was going on. But this certainly did explain a lot and oh, no wonder Erik had been so miserable all night!

Quickly, Charles gave Erik his own memory of the conversation.

_“Come on, say you’ll go with Sean, he really really likes you and I know you like him! You’ve rather shattered his world by turning him down. Come on, you know you want to go with him.”_  
“But **Prom,** ugh, it’s so cheesy and shallow and such a waste of money and, and—”  
“And you get to wear a really gorgeous dress,” Charles wheedled.  
“I will not be tempted by such trivial concerns.”  
“Don’t bother lying to a telepath, my friend.”  
“Uggghhhh. Okay, the dress would be fun, but… but… Dang it, Charles.”  
“So is that a yes?”  
Moira rolled her eyes. “All right, all right.”  
“Yes! Thank you, Moira! Oh, **and** ,” he leaned in to whisper, “I’ll be picking you up in the stretch limousine.”  
Moira, who’d had a thing for the limo since the first time she saw it in Charles’s garage, muffled a squeal and hugged him. “Charles, you are the best!”  
“Yes, darling, I know.” 

_I’m sorry,_ Erik whispered into his mind, _Charles, I’m sorry, I’m STUPID, I’m so sorry!_

_You’re not stupid. We’re both stupid. Oh, Erik!_ Charles wiped his face and ran -- out of the bathroom, back through the ballroom doors, all the way onto the dancefloor where Erik was standing stock-still in Emma’s grasp.

“I beg your pardon, Emma,” Charles said, “may I cut in?”

Emma rolled her eyes and lifted her hands away from Erik, as if he’d grown faintly disgusting anyway, and Charles stepped into Erik’s arms just in time for the crescendo of the song that was playing.

_“And IIIIIIII will always love youuuu-uuuu! I will aaaaalways love you—”_

They both burst out laughing from the sheer cheesiness of it, but it still felt like the most epic moment of Charles’s life, he and Erik clinging to each other, trying not to get tears on each other’s tuxes, swaying to the last few lines of the song with their minds as tightly twined together as their bodies.

“Let’s blow this joint,” Erik whispered. “My dad won’t be home for hours.”

“Excellent idea. I can tell you what an idiot you are without the bother of an audience.”

“I look forward to it,” Erik said, and finally, finally tipped Charles’s chin up to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PROM PLAYLIST:** (via YouTube, tell me if there's any problems with the links)  
> [At Last](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Q2rZb7E0EY) (Etta James)  
> [My Heart Will Go On](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGTm8UfWHAM) (Celine Dion)  
> [Unchained Melody](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQTndyhJx7Q) (The Righteous Brothers)  
> [When You Say Nothing At All](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muKQWGMC-b0) (Alison Krauss)  
> [Truly Madly Deeply](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0EkWe44sIc) (Savage Garden)  
> [Beauty & The Beast](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8hjGTOan7k) (Celine Dion & Peabo Bryson)  
> [I Will Always Love You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9nPf7w7pDI) (Whitney Houston)


	6. I Love You Like a Power Ballad, Baby

“All right, I think we’ve got this all worked out,” Charles said. “Erik, I’m sorry for not giving you the proper context for my relationship with Moira, and for paying more attention to her than to you, my actual date. Moira, I’m sorry for making you a casualty of my romantic mishaps.”

“Apology accepted,” Moira and Erik murmured together, Moira looking amused, Erik… not. Charles raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend, _your turn._

Looking like he was having teeth pulled, or perhaps a new piercing put in a very delicate area, Erik recited, “Charles, I’m sorry for being a passive-aggressive jerk instead of talking about my feelings. Moira, I’m… sorryforbeingmeantoyou.”

“Apology accepted,” Moira said, definitely struggling to keep a straight face.

“Dude, what is even going on?” Sean asked, inching an uneasy arm around Moira’s waist.

“Nothing to worry about, Sean,” Charles said. “Ah, here’s Bill with the car! Don’t worry, he’ll be coming to get the rest of you lot whenever you decide to call it a night.”

“You guys are leaving already?”

“Yep,” Charles said, beaming at Erik, who had opened the door for him. “I think we’ve had about as much prom as we can take.”

***

At Erik’s house, they turned on the old Righteous Brothers CD Mr. Lehnsherr had left in the player, and dimmed the lights to dance in the living room.

“Yes, this is much less corny than prom music,” Charles chuckled as they swayed back and forth to “Unchained Melody.”

“Oh, hush.” Erik absently twirled the bracelet around Charles’s wrist, letting himself soak in the warmth of Charles’s presence, the dizzying relief that he hadn’t lost him, that everything was all right between them. “My parents used to dance to this,” he said, without really meaning to.

Charles, thankfully, didn’t try to say anything in response, just held him a little tighter, paired with a sort of telepathic hug — a wordless sensation of warmth and love.

“Hey, look what a good boy I am, I got you home before curfew,” Charles said after a minute, nodding toward the clock, which had yet to reach eleven.

Erik snorted. “Such a good boy that you left your jacket at the hotel.”

“Did I?” Charles looked down at his own arms, as if surprised to find them bare. “Well, drat. Let me text Raven, make sure she brings it home…” He started patting his pockets, frowning.

Erik laughed and pulled him closer to lean his forehead against Charles’s shoulder. “You left your phone in your jacket pocket.”

“What? No, I couldn’t have, I called Bill to come get us…”

“And then put the phone back in your jacket. And left your jacket in your chair.” At Charles’s boggled expression, Erik’s laughter nearly cost him the ability to stand upright. “Oh, Charles, I love you!”

Charles just grumbled and let Erik fall off his shoulder and onto the couch — then squawked as Erik pulled him down, too, and wrapped him up tight in his lap.

“I love you,” he said again, dotting kisses down the side of Charles’s face. “Here’s my phone. Raven’s not going to be checking hers, it’s _prom,_ but text Bill, maybe he can ask after your jacket and phone when he comes to pick the others up.”

Charles did so, muttering the whole time about how annoying Erik was and how it was all his fault, really — mutters that got progressively less coherent as Erik worked his way down Charles’s neck and then began fumbling with shirt buttons.

“There,” Charles said at last, tossing the phone onto the coffee table. “Done. Are you satisfied?”

Erik grinned wickedly. “Not yet.”

The CD chose that moment to end, plunging the room into a silence it seemed too small to hold, while their gazes locked and their smiles faded — not into unhappiness, by any means, but a sort of nervous anticipation.

No one was waiting up for Charles. Erik’s father wouldn’t be home until morning.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Charles stammered after a moment.

Erik had to swallow before his voice would work. “Sure. Um. Pick one out.” He didn’t let himself whimper when Charles got off his lap, but it was a near thing.

“Avengers?” he said, when Charles came back from the shelf and started popping in his chosen disk. “I know you’ve seen that, what, a dozen times?”

“You can never have too much of the classics,” Charles said loftily, and returned to the couch — not to Erik’s lap, tragically, but close enough to touch from shoulder to ankle, and immediately slipping his arm around Erik’s waist. Erik switched off the lamp.

He doubted either of them really saw more than ten cumulative minutes of the movie; Erik certainly couldn’t focus on it, not with each of them’s hands wandering slowly up and down random places on each other’s bodies — hip, ribs, neck, hair — Charles fiddling with an earring — followed, hesitantly, after a while, by soft, slow kisses along cheeks, jawlines, collarbones, the tip of an ear. Charles smelled _wonderful,_ and he was so warm and exactly soft enough, and Erik could feel his breath coming ever-so-gradually faster minute by minute… The movie faded to background noise, distant lights, and then out of Erik’s perceptions entirely, as Charles sank backward onto the couch with a shaky sigh, pulling Erik down on top of him.

They’d been dating almost two months; this was far and away not their first “snog,” as Charles insisted on calling it. But it felt different, special — maybe because it was prom night, maybe because they’d made up from their first really, really, _really_ serious fight (it looked like they might need a way of categorizing these things), maybe just because they didn’t often get this amount of completely secure time alone. For whatever reason, or for all of the reasons, tonight had… unprecedented possibilities.

Right up until Coulson died.

At first, all Erik knew was that Charles had suddenly gasped and gone rigid beneath him, and the next moment was scrambling to get up.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Charles, what’s wrong?” Erik demanded.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t — I just normally skip this scene and I didn’t — I’m sorry!”

Erik glanced from the screen to Charles’s flushed, wide-eyed face. “You were still watching the _movie?”_

“No! Not really, I just — happened to glance up and POW and I wasn’t prepared for…” His eyes had shifted over Erik’s shoulder, to the screen, and were looking rather wet. “I really liked Agent Coulson.”

Erik let out a deep breath as a long sigh, trying his best to let go of the adrenaline-sparked irritation. “Come here, it’s all right…”

After that, with the mood thoroughly shattered, they just curled up together on the couch and watched _The Avengers._ Sometime during the alien invasion of New York, Charles fell asleep. Erik hazily fumbled for the remote, turned off the movie, and followed suit, his face buried in Charles’s hair.

***

Charles woke to sunlight in his eyes and the sound of a deep, rumbling chuckle.

“Oh no,” he croaked. “Oh, what timeis it, where’s my phone — Um, ah, good morning, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Erik’s father chuckled again, and took a seat in a creaky leather armchair with a steaming mug in his hand. He looked tired, but with smile-lines deepening in the craggy territory around his eyes.

There was an afghan tucked around himself and Erik, Charles realized. Erik was still snoring softly against the back of his neck. “I, um, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles began, trying to sit up without jostling Erik, ”I’m sorry if—”

The man waved a hand dismissively. “Lay down, lay down. I come home, my son is sleeping like baby — this is rare. You both have clothes on. All is fine.”

Heh, and how different a conversation would they be having if last night had gone a little differently… Charles looked at his watch and winced, reached for Erik’s phone and winced again. Four texts from Raven.

_[3:04] chas, got ur jacket. u planning to come home? it’s 3 am_

_[3:48] if ur dead in a ditch let me kno_

_[9:06] i assume congratulations are in order. hope ur not knocked up._

_[9:21] i covered for u w/ mom. u o me. srsly tho, r u ded?_

_not dead, be home soon,_ Charles typed back, and reluctantly slid off the couch, trying not to disturb Erik, who grumbled and shifted but didn’t wake. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Lehnsherr, I need to get home.”

“What is word for this? Walk of shame?” Mr. Lehnsherr laughed, gesturing at Charles’s wrinkled white pants and half-buttoned vest. Charles felt his face heat. “Get something from Erik’s closet if you like. He will not mind.”

Heh. No, he certainly wouldn’t. They had worn each other’s clothes [once before](http://archiveofourown.org/works/597106), just for kicks, and, well… kicks indeed.

In Erik’s room, he pulled a pair of jeans from the closet (rolling up the legs several inches) and, bypassing all of Erik’s button-ups and polos, all the things he wore to make an impression or create an effect, instead plucked a dark purple turtleneck off the back of the desk chair. It was thick and soft and worn, and Erik liked to put it on when he was stressed out because it was comfortable, yet confining, and that made him feel safe. Not that Erik even consciously knew that, but Charle’s gift had its perks. He pulled the turtleneck over his head, taking a deep breath of Erik’s scent on it. Fabric puddled around his wrists, tried to swallow his chin, but looking at himself in the mirror, Charles couldn’t stop smiling.

He had coffee and a bagel with Mr. Lehnsherr while he waited for Bill to come, making small talk about how lovely Prom had been. Mr. Lehnsherr’s bushy eyebrows communicated his gentle amusement at Charles’s choice of outfit, the phrase _kleine Welpe_ drifting from his mind.

“And there’s Bill,” Charles said at last, as the driver’s familiar mind drew close. “I hate to wake Erik, but I don’t think he’d like me to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Have good day, Charles,” Mr. Lehnsherr rumbled, and ruffled Charles’s hair as he passed.

Charles knelt by the couch, stroking Erik’s hair, untangling the chain on his ear cuff, rubbing at a bit of smudged eyeliner. “I’ve got to go, Erik. I’ve got my SAT Prep tutor in an hour, and then Kurt’s taking us out on the boat, but I should be able to call later.”

“Mm?” Erik opened one eye reluctantly. “No, stay.” His voice was sleepy and petulant, almost whiny. Charles found it unexpectedly adorable.

He chuckled and kissed Erik’s eyebrow. “I can’t, I’ve got to go now. I’ll talk to you later. Thank you for a lovely Prom.”

Erik clasped a hand firmly around his wrist. “Uh-uh. Stay.”

“Eriiiik…” Half-laughing, half-exasperated, Charles mashed his forehead into Erik’s shoulder and tried to tug his hand away. “Let go!”

“Hold still.”

Charles felt a point against his skin, and turned his head to see Erik with — was that an eyeliner pencil? — drawing a heart on his wrist.

“You,” Charles said, “are ridiculous,” and he tugged the pencil away to return the favor, bestowing the gentlest brush of a kiss on the heart when he was done.

“You can’t say much about ridiculous, my shirt’s gonna eat you alive,” Erik said, running his hands up under the hem and pulling him down for a _real_ kiss, and oh he really had to go before it got even har— more difficult.

“I’ll talk to you later, Erik,” he said firmly, and stood up and walked to the door before he could get distracted again.

Just as he opened it, he heard Erik’s voice drifting from the couch in a high, unnatural croon.

_“And IIIIIIIII will alwaaays love youuuu—”_

“Really, Erik?”

_“—IIII will aaaaalways loooove you IIIII—”_

“Oh, dear heavens, is this Our Song now or something?”

_“—will aaaaalwaaaayyys love youuu-uuuu I will always love—”_

“You know it’s actually a really _sad_ song, right?”

_“—YYYOUUUUUU—”_

“Goodbye, Erik!” he shouted, and closed the door behind him.

It wouldn’t always be like this, Charles reflected as Bill raised an eyebrow at him in the rearview mirror and pulled onto the roadway. They would fight again, they’d fight a _lot,_ and argue and misunderstand each other and disagree on everything, and that’s just the way things were going to be. And it would be worth every second.

He smiled like a loon all the way home, and everyone in the house had Whitney Houston stuck in their heads for days.


End file.
